


Finding What Was Lost

by alexofthegarden



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 8x01, Brotherly Love, Episode Related, Family Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Punishment, Purgatory, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 12:47:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15582324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexofthegarden/pseuds/alexofthegarden
Summary: Sam would never know why he had thought less than 24 hours ago that he could just be reunited with his brother with hugs and tears, after a year of believing Dean was dead.  Wishful thinking.  Or maybe it was that he’d put everything so far behind him, he’d forgotten what this was like.  Having a brother who looked out for him.  Raised him.  Held him accountable for his actions. (An 8x01 Alternate Version)





	Finding What Was Lost

**Author's Note:**

> This story came to me while watching episode 8x01, when Dean gets back from Purgatory. I couldn’t stare into that face, and those eyes, and not see this. I know this messes with a lot of the season, many of the things covered for weeks are addressed here, but I’m sure the boys could have found plenty more to be angsty about had the scene gone this way instead! ;)
> 
> Also, this story references one of my earlier works, Syzygy, which I consider to be in the same ‘verse as this one and A Firm Hand. If you haven’t read that one, you don’t need to read it first, but since my amazing beta, edge_of_clairvoyance, was delighted by the reference, you might want to!
> 
> Thank you again, edge_of_clairvoyance! You are the best!

The cabin air was thick with anger and heartache.  Sam would never know why he had thought less than 24 hours ago that he could just be reunited with his brother with hugs and tears, after a year of believing Dean was dead.  Wishful thinking.  Or maybe it was that he’d put everything so far behind him, he’d forgotten what _this_ was like.  Having a brother who looked out for him.  Raised him.  Held him accountable for his actions.

Actions Sam knew Dean wouldn’t understand.  He never did.

When Dean had been with Lisa, all he could think about was hunting.

When Sam was with Amelia, he finally didn’t have to.

“You want some dinner?”  It was hard for Sam to even get those words out.  Dean had grabbed the box of all their old cellphones.  He was charging them.  Listening to voicemails that Sam had let go since he’d thought his brother was dead.  Since Sam had run away.

“I’ll pass,” Dean said, his fury continuing to boil just under the surface despite the walk he’d already taken to try to clear his head.

Sam should have known it would never be that easy.  Dean held grudges.  “Okay,” he said with a sigh, turning back to the stew on the stove.  He just had to give his brother time, that was all.  It most certainly wasn’t the first time Dean was mad at him, it most certainly wouldn’t be the last.  But Dean always forgave him.  Always.

He poured himself a bowl, turned off the heat and sat down.  It was bland in his mouth, but the knot in his stomach suppressed his hunger anyway.  All he could do was look at Dean, watch him beneath the bangs that fell into his face. He knew.  He knew that Dean thought he’d fucked up, he knew that in Dean’s mind Sam had betrayed him by not looking for him.  He knew a part of himself believed it too, but the other part…he’d done what was right. For him.  Finally.

He couldn’t take it, he had to look away, eat another spoonful, and hope that there was nothing important he’d missed.

But then he felt Dean’s eyes on him, eyes that forced his attention.  Sam’s heart raced but he wouldn’t let fear get the best of him.  He’d had his reasons for what he’d done.  Everything he’d done, including ignoring the phones.  He’d had reasons.

Dean’s eyes, though, said there would be no reason good enough to forget the crimes he had committed.

“What?” Sam asked, trying and failing to feign nonchalance.

Dean said nothing.  Eyes blazing, he simply pulled the headphones out of the jack and held up the phone so Sam could hear the voicemails that had been left for him.

Message after message.  Kevin asking for help.  Begging for help.  Drunk to escape the fear. Alone in the world for three months.  Six months.  Assuming Sam was dead and gone.  The guilt came crashing down with the anger - no, the incredible disappointment in Dean’s eyes.  Sam recognized that burning stare.  It pulled him out of his seat and toward his brother.  It was the look that made the hair on his arms stand on end.  It was the one that made his skin crawl with anticipation.  It was John Winchester’s stare when there was no chance in hell of escaping what he thought you deserved.

“He was our responsibility.”  Dean launched the phone at him, striking his chest, and Sam quickly caught it.  “And you couldn’t answer the damn phone.”

It was the look that had always made Dean stop cold.

It had never stopped Sam though.

“Dean-”

“Was it a girl?” Dean accused.

It didn’t matter. “Dean.”

“It was a girl.  Dammit, Sammy, do you know how often Dad drilled into me that a girl was never to get in the way of my responsibility to you?”

“I was a kid,” Sam argued.

“So is Kevin!”

Sam stopped, startled out of his defense.  Dean’s head tilted, eyes scrunching.  “What, you think this is about me?  Am I pissed as hell you didn’t look for me in Purgatory?  Damn straight I am.  But I’m a big boy.  A hunter.  I can take care of myself.  Kevin though? Kevin was a child, in the hands of the King of Hell.” Dean took a dangerous step toward him and Sam could barely breathe.  “And you.  Were with. A girl.”

“Dean, please listen-”

“There is nothing you can say, Sam.  Not a goddamn thing that excuses you from not doing your job.  For abandoning him. Leaving him to Crowley.”  Dean unbuckled his belt and snapped it out of his jeans.  “Get over the table,” he ordered.

“No, I’m not going to-”

But before he could get another word out, Dean grabbed him, flipped him around and slammed him flat, face first on the kitchen table.  Dean held Sam’s right arm tight across his back as he bent down to Sam’s ear.  “Yes.  You fucking will.”

Sam fought, pushed against Dean’s grip.  “God, Dean, get off-”

“Not a chance, Sammy,” Dean said before the belt came whipping down across Sam’s ass, leaving a burning stripe in its wake.

“Fuck,” Sam yelled through gritted teeth.

The next strike forced Sam’s breath from his lungs and he gasped.  Anger was behind his brother’s excruciating strokes laced with a strength that could only have come from a year spent in Purgatory.  Another hit made his skin blaze and his stomach roil and he wouldn’t let Dean do this to him, not this way.

Sam caught him off guard when he sprang from the table, spun around, and went after his brother.  Dean’s arm was still flailing down and Sam grabbed the belt just in time to avoid a strike far more painful than he could imagine.  The leather still slammed into his hand like he was a school boy and it hurt like a son of a bitch, but he’d deal with that pain later.  All that mattered was that the weapon was out of Dean’s hands.

Then suddenly, Dean had him against the wall, one hand on his shoulder pressing him back, the other across his chest, holding him flat.

Sam looked him in the eye and shivered.  He’d never seen his brother like this.  There was only one explanation.

“What happened in Purgatory?” Sam asked.

“Give me the fucking belt back,” Dean insisted.

“No,” Sam gasped, his breath cut off by the strength of Dean’s grasp.  “Not like this, not with you this angry.  What happened in Purgatory?”

“Pretty much this, except armed with a machete instead of a belt, so it would be your head rolling instead of your ass burning.  Now give it the fuck back.”

“Take a walk, Dean,” Sam said.  Dean didn’t move an inch.  “I’ll give it back Dean, I will.  But I’m only gonna take what I deserve, not what you need to get out of your system.”

Their eyes locked for what seemed like an hour until Dean slammed him back against the wall and stormed out the door.

 

* * *

 

One hour went by, then two, and Sam wondered if Dean would ever come back to him or if he’d lost his brother forever.  Again.  But finally, he heard the doorknob rattle and Dean walked in.

He seemed calmer.  Not any less angry or disappointed, but able to hold his temper.  Without a glance toward Sam, he pulled out a wooden chair and sat down, arms crossed on his chest.  “You wanted me to listen?”  Dean finally lifted his gaze and the same blazing eyes bore into Sam.  “Talk.”

Sam hesitated, not sure if what he’d say would make a difference, not sure if Dean was really ready to listen.  Or to hear.  But slowly, he made his way closer to his brother and perched himself on the arm of the couch. 

“You were gone, Dean.  Dead, as far as I knew.  Cas, Mom, Dad, Bobby…”  He lowered his eyes to the ground.  The truth was too hard looking into the face of the man that had demanded everything of him just by being who he was.   “I never wanted to hunt.  I never wanted to be a vessel for Lucifer.  Everything I did, Dean, I did because of you.  Because you were by my side and alone and you needed me.  As much as I needed you.”  He didn’t have to look at his brother to know that was the last thing he’d wanted to hear.  “I tried, Dean.  I tried to walk out of that building, dripping with blackness, and I tried to figure out how to go after Crowley and Kevin when my entire world had just blown up in front of me.  I tried to make a plan but all I could do was get into the Impala and see every memory of you and drown in tears that wouldn’t stop for days.  My stomach emptied, I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep.  The Impala was the only place…”  His heart hurt all over again just thinking about it.  “So I didn’t get out.  I just drove.”

The chair squeaked and, tears in his eyes, Sam risked a glance toward his brother.  Dean stood and took a step toward him.  “Sammy, come here,” he said as he reached out and pulled Sam into his arms.  Sam clutched Dean’s jacket in his fist and breathed in the scent of him and the love and the care that no matter the mistakes he made, would always, always, be there for him.  He sniffled as he pulled away.

“I’m sorry, Dean.  I know it isn’t what you wanted me to do.  I knew it wasn’t.  But you were gone.  I’d lost you, everyone.  I was alone.  I had to do what was right for me.”

“I get it, Sammy, I do,” Dean said.  But Sam was smart enough to know that wasn’t the end of that.  “But what was right for you left a vulnerable kid who was our responsibility in the hands of the King of Hell.  That’s something we can’t just let go.  It was wrong.  It was selfish, not just because of Kevin but because of what Crowley could have done with the knowledge Kevin would gather for him if the kid hadn’t gotten away.  And that would have also been our responsibility.”

Sam decided not to point out that Dean felt everything and everyone was his responsibility.  In this case, he had to admit that Dean was right.  He’d known it even then.  That’s why he’d run.  That’s why he’d looked for an escape.  And it was as easy as a dog.  And a girl.

He looked out the window.  A moon glowed through, just shy of full.  “Do you remember when Dad brought us to Bobby’s and kicked your ass for leaving me alone to kiss a girl?” Sam asked.

Dean gave a firm nod.  “Clear as day.  I was twelve.  You asked me if it was worth it.”

“You said for kissing the girl, definitely.  For putting me in danger, not at all.”  Sam swallowed hard, his eyes dipping.  “Guess I didn’t learn very much from your mistake on that one.”

“Time to learn it for yourself then.”

Dean held out his palm.  Sam didn’t want this.  But he could either take his whipping today or suffer through weeks and months of backhanded, passive aggressive comments until Dean’s anger boiled over and his fists finally gave him the punishment he thought Sam deserved. He wanted that far less, so he reached over to the couch and picked up the belt where he’d left it.  He placed it in his brother’s hand, then went to the table Dean had thrown him over earlier.  Gripping the sides, staring down at the grains in the wood, he settled into position.

“I’m not going easy,” Dean said.  “You earned this.”

Sam took a deep breath and braced himself.  “I know.”

It wasn’t that he expected Dean to hesitate, but the speed at which the first lash flew across his ass knocked the breath out of him.  It was so fast that the pain barely registered before the next stroke and then it was like his brother was searing every trace of disappointment into his flesh.  Sam began to realize that the thing about standing there and taking it instead of fighting Dean off was that each and every stripe that Dean burned into him throbbed twice as much.

He closed his eyes and he gritted his teeth as the leather rained down on him like thunder and lightning, the sound of every strike pounding through his head, the sting coursing through his skin.  When he lost track of the count and the ability to differentiate where each lash landed, his mind drifted from the pain and from the moment and it wasn’t Dean behind him anymore wielding the belt.

He held in his cries as he always had, never giving his father the satisfaction of watching him break because with Dad it had never been about what Sam deserved, but about what the old man needed him to feel.  The pain; transferred or shared, Sam never really knew which one.

In moments like this, Dean was no different from their dad.  This wasn’t about Kevin anymore.  That punishment had been satisfied what seemed like dozens of lashes ago.  No, the pain that seemed to penetrate every inch of his body, that seemed to flow through every nerve in his skin, this was Dean’s pain.  The hurt he’d felt knowing that Sam had abandoned him.  Sam knew that, he felt that, in the tightening of his heart, a strangulation so strong he could barely gather air into his lungs.    

It was a pain that was unbearable.

“Dean, I’m sorry,” he whispered, barely able to get the words out.  “Please, please, I’m so sorry, I need…”

It took a moment to realize that the belt had stopped falling.

“You need what, Sammy?” Dean asked.

Whatever he was going to say, it didn’t matter, nothing mattered and he turned and pulled his brother into his arms.  “I’m sorry,” Sam said, and he meant it, not for making the choices he had, but for the pain his choices had caused his brother.  His throat clenched and his voice choked. “I’m so sorry that I hurt you.  Left you.  Left Kevin.”

“Are you really?” Dean said, out of breath.  “Cuz my arm ain’t tired yet, I can keep going.”

Sam knew Dean was lying.  Even if he wasn’t, Sam couldn’t take anymore.  “I really am, Dean.  I know you don’t understand why I did what I did, but I understood how it would have made you feel.  And I did it anyway, because I didn’t think I’d ever have to deal with whatever consequences there were.”

Sam’s heart raced as his brother looked at him, studied him, trying to decide whether or not Sam had truly had enough.  He thought for a moment he’d be going back over the table when Dean threaded his belt back through his loops. 

“Yeah, well, now we’re gonna deal with every single consequence, little brother.  Starting with Kevin.”  Dean gave him a slap on his ass that hurt far more than it should have and shoved him toward the laptop.  “Get searching.   He sure as hell ain’t gonna find himself.”

Find himself.  The words batted around inside his head as he gingerly sat down and turned on his laptop.  Maybe Dean was wrong.  Maybe without either one of them there to save him, Kevin had found himself.  

As much as he hated to admit it, with Dean gone, Sam had been well on his own way.  The only question he had was whether or not this was a new part of his journey, or just one more detour from the life he was supposed to live. With Dean back, would Sam just be lost once again?  Or this time, would he finally be found?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so new to Supernatural that I've worried about writing alternate versions of canon, so please let me know what you think!


End file.
